The Mallian Wound
by Kizzykat
Summary: Alexander meets with his generals and Hephaestion after nearly dying


**The Mallian Wound by Kizzykat**

_Coraldawn suggested this ages ago._

His eyes closed, Alexander lay between the Egyptian cotton sheets trying to ease the tension and pain from his muscles. Every single muscle in his body was clenched against the pain of his wound and he willed the tension in his back and legs to melt into the cool sheets and the softness of the feather mattress.

The ride from the river had cost him greatly. The pain from his deep unhealed chest wound had sapped the strength from his bloodless body and left him trembling and faint from the exertion. Yet it had been essential for the morale of the whole army to show as many of his men as possible that he was alive, that he wasn't dying. Many more men would have seen him on horseback than if he had been on a litter. It had been 'necessary', as Bagoas would say.

Yet he was paying the price now as the energy and excitement engendered by the men's cheers and adulation faded. Such love, admiration, relief and worship as the men had shown was Alexander's life blood. He could not live without it. He would give his last drop of heart's blood to merit such enormous love, to perform feats worthy of such love. And his men knew it. Such love could move mountains. And his men had moved mountains for him. They fed each other, King and army, giving each other strength, the desire to excel, the will to succeed.

Even the memory of such love could send a glow through Alexander's exhausted limbs, stir his faltering heart. He needed that strength now, for he had his generals, his friends to deal with. They would let him know in no uncertain terms that he had been foolishly reckless to personally lead the assault on the Mallian city, and bordering on stupid to jump down into the city. He owed his life to Abreas, Leonnatus and Peucestas.

Yet it had been necessary. The men had baulked at mounting the scaling ladders. They were like horses: you lead them by encouragement, by showing them they could do it, that there was nothing to be afraid of if you had the courage to outface the enemy. He could not have anticipated that the scaling ladders would break under their eagerness to emulate him.

Neither could he have jumped back outside the city. That would have completely wasted his display of heroic leadership. And he did not retreat. He did not lead by prudence and say it was too hard, too dangerous. He had put his life in his men's hands and they had not let him down.

His generals would not let him down either. They had followed him into the royal tent, anxious, eager to reassure themselves of his true condition, to talk to him. But he had been in no condition to talk to them straight away. Once out of sight of the army, his focus had been solely on getting to that bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen Hephaestion stiff-arm back Bagoas who had rushed forward to take his arm. Hephaestion knew that the performance was not finished, that the King could not let himself succumb to weakness and collapse in front of his generals.

He had managed to sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed, and after a moment to drink a little of the strong wine Bagoas held to his lips. Craterus, Ptolemy, Perdiccas and the rest had crowded forward uncertainly, but the surgeon had pushed his way through and, not quite daring to order the generals from the tent, had merely asked them to give the King room.

They had backed up as the surgeon had re-bandaged the wound, which was seeping blood, and they had all had a good view of the hole the arrow had made in the flesh of his chest. Alexander had had the satisfaction of hearing one or two winces and indrawn breaths.

The surgeon had tried to get him to take a draught of poppy juice after he had settled him in the bed, but Alexander had waved him off impatiently and the surgeon had left, leaving Alexander to the tender mercies of his generals.

Even with his eyes closed, Alexander could feel their presence in the tent now, anxiety and relief mingled with their desire to upbraid him. His generals were like the Indian tigers they hunted, ferocious, stealthy man-eaters, powerful jaws agape and eyes burning feverishly with the desire to kill. Royal lions in a whiskered disguise, they would rend and tear each other for supremacy were he not here to keep them at bay with a hard hand.

But if they sensed weakness in the dominant beast, like predatory lions they would pounce on him and bring him down, tearing his throat out with their massive paws and curved incisors.

Without opening his eyes, Alexander said, "Stop hovering like a flock of vultures. I'm not dead yet."

Cracking an eye open, Alexander saw the relief flooding their faces that his spirit was still fighting fit, and that he had not lost his sense of humour. He opened his eyes fully to take in their well-known faces, surprised at the relief he felt in seeing them all again. It felt good to see his brothers-in-arms around him again: dependable Craterus, wily Perdiccas, trusty Ptolemy, Leonnatus, Seleucus, Nearchus, Eumenes, Meleager, Peucestas, others of lesser rank, and Hephaestion.

Hephaestion's face caught at Alexander's gaze. Hephaestion was standing at the back of the crowd, his arms folded, not looking at Alexander, and Alexander knew that indrawn, thoughtful, tense expression well enough to know that something was disturbing Hephaestion deeply. Alexander felt a moment's unease at being cut off from his friend's thoughts.

Their eyes had met in joy when Alexander had disembarked at the riverside, and the unspoken love in Hephaestion's eyes had enveloped Alexander as warmly as a mother's embrace at homecoming, giving him the strength to mount the horse and show himself to the army as he had sensed the men's feverish anxiety to glimpse him.

He dragged his eyes away from Hephaestion's face to smile and accept his other friends' greetings as they crowded forward. He spoke their names with warmth as they thanked the gods to see him and clasped his hand. He held out to his hand on his good side to reassure them with a touch, drawing strength from the warmth of their rough hands.

"Alexander," Craterus said reprovingly as he stood at the bedside, "you took a terrible risk."

"A risk I felt was necessary in the circumstances, Craterus," Alexander said, "and it achieved its objective merely at the cost of a little blood."

"A little blood, Alexander?" Perdiccas said. "It is a company officer's place to lead an assault on the walls, not a king's. We cannot afford to lose you."

"It was needful at the moment," Alexander said. "And I am not irreplaceable."

"To the men you are irreplaceable, Alexander," Ptolemy said, "and well you know it. What would we have done if you had been killed, Alexander? It is your reputation, your presence alone that is stopping the Indians from rising up in a body and overwhelming us. With you gone, they would think we were toothless and would overwhelm us."

"It is the Macedonians the Indians fear, not just Alexander," Alexander said with a smile.

"But, Alexander," Eumenes said," we are deep in hostile territory. We could very easily be cut off if the Indians decide we are beatable."

"The same is true whether I am alive or not, Eumenes. But I entirely trust the men I have left to guard our rear," Alexander said. "However, there are signs that the ferocity with which the army destroyed the Mallian city has terrified the Mallians to such an extent that they have no thought of further resistance. Three towns have already come to offer their submission, and they say that the Oxydracae to the south have made enquiries of them about sending ambassadors to us. It may have been worth the sacrifice."

"Nothing is worth the sacrifice of losing you, Alexander," Nearchus cried.

"Enough, Nearchus," Craterus said. "We should leave Alexander to get some rest." He had caught the breathless wave of paleness which had passed over Alexander's face at the end of his speech.

"I thank you, Nearchus, for your concern," Alexander said, his voice weakening for a moment. "All of you, I thank you for your concern for my well-being. I acknowledge that I was reckless, that I was caught up in the moment, but I was confident that the gods were with me. And I would not do otherwise were it to happen again." He smiled roguishly. "Would you have me any different? Would you have me a cautious king?"

"Indeed, we would not, Alexander," Ptolemy said, affection in his voice. "Just don't do it again."

Alexander smiled ruefully. "Ptolemy, I could have taken an arrow at any point, inside or outside the city."

"Agreed," Ptolemy said, with a smile. "Get some rest, Alexander, and we will see you tomorrow."

"Issue an extra ration of wine to the men," Alexander said. "And a sheep or goat to each company to offer as a sacrifice. In thanksgiving."

Ptolemy nodded and turned to join the others who were moving towards the entrance to Alexander's sleeping quarters. All except Hephaestion, who stood looking at Alexander with a thoughtful expression.

A quick look passed between Alexander and Hephaestion, the intimate, wordless communication of long understanding.

Ptolemy turned his head to look at Craterus in unspoken acknowledgement that everyone else did not include Hephaestion. Craterus gave an imperceptible shrug and joined Ptolemy as they left Hephaestion with Alexander.

Hephaestion turned his head briefly to watch them leave, then looked back at Alexander. "Do you want your poppy juice?" he asked.

Alexander moved his head against the pillow. "Not yet," he said quietly. "Sit with me for a while."

Hephaestion reached for a chair and set it a good arm's length from the bed, a little forward so that he was not looking directly at Alexander. He sat there, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his knees, staring at the floor in tense thoughtfulness.

Alexander watched him. When Hephaestion was tired or stressed, his cheekbones became flushed and especially on the right side, when he was very tired, the colour tended to creep up to his temple. It was a long time since Alexander had seen that youthful mark of stress on his friend.

Hephaestion was pale too, his eyes reddened, the thin skin at the inner edge and under his eyes tinged with blue. His mouth was set in a tense line, and Alexander read justifiable anger and a touch of resentment there and in the tight set of his back and shoulders.

"Have you not been sleeping?" Alexander asked quietly.

Hephaestion flashed him a hot, dark look. "Be quiet," he said firmly. "Go to sleep."

Oh dear, Alexander sighed inwardly. This was going to be difficult. His brush with death had made him light-hearted with relief and he was inclined to see the funny side of things. Hephaestion had all the makings of having a mother hen hissy fit at him, something Bagoas would be proud of.

"Are you mad at me?" he asked, with just the smallest tremor of laughter in his voice.

Hephaestion glared at him this time. "Go to sleep," he said tersely.

Alexander's own quick anger was ignited. Hephaestion was going to talk to him and tell him what was eating him whether he wanted to or not.

"What happened when the news reached you?" he asked.

Hephaestion looked at him more cautiously this time, recognising the note of command.

"Panic and consternation among the men."

"Was discipline lost?"

"No."

"And among the commanders?"

"Panic and consternation."

Alexander bit down on his temper in frustration. Hephaestion was holding back on him because of his weakened condition, but Alexander was not having anyone go soft on him or withholding information from him.

"Hephaestion, you were in command. Did anyone threaten mutiny?"

"No, not outwardly."

"But if you thought me dead, the subject of my successor must have come up."

Hephaestion met his eyes directly. There was still reserve there, but he was opening up. "Yes," he said. "Factions were forming."

"For whom?"

"Craterus was all for declaring your brother Philip Arrhidaeus as King with him and me as regents and heading back to Macedon by the shortest route possible. Perdiccas wanted to have Ptolemy declare himself your father Philip's son and head back to Babylon. I don't think Ptolemy wanted to be Perdiccas's puppet."

"And you? What would you have done?"

"Me? I would have declared Arrhidaeus King, married him to Roxane, killed Craterus at the first opportunity, carried on downriver to Ocean and then headed back to Babylon to secure the empire and Greece. Eventually I would have deposed Philip and declared myself King. Or someone would have killed me within days of your death." He met Alexander's eyes, defying him to question his decisions.

Alexander would have laughed in satisfaction, but it hurt his chest too much.

"Alexander," Hephaestion said, anger rising in his voice, "it is no laughing matter. You have no heir. Philip Arrhidaeus is incapable of ruling, Roxane's son is dead, you have never acknowledged Barsine's son Heracles as yours and he's a thousand miles away in Pergamon. Until you get a son and heir, you need to be careful of yourself. With you dead, there would be an almighty bloodbath until someone emerged victorious."

"You would," Alexander said softly.

Hephaestion gave him an annoyed look.

"Hephaestion, I have never acknowledged Heracles as mine because I'm not certain he is, and because too many men remember fighting against Memnon. It would stick in their craw to acknowledge his widow's son as their king. But you are my second-in-command; you have commanded the greater part of the army for the past year or more.."

"Yes!" Hephaestion interrupted him angrily, his face and body vibrant with passion, "while you go haring off on some high risk, glamorous escapade! You should be at the centre, holding command, while other men do the more dangerous tasks! You are irresponsible, Alexander! You will not cheat death for ever! It is high time you grew up and stopped behaving like Achilles!"

He stared breathlessly at Alexander, who could only stare at him for a moment, startled at the outburst. Then Alexander's stubbornness set in. He was not changing the way he behaved to suit Hephaestion.

"The men need a hero to follow, to encourage them to extraordinary deeds," he said, his voice hard.

"Have they not done enough extraordinary deeds?" Hephaestion demanded vehemently. "Would your death not be one too many extraordinary demand upon them?"

Alexander stared at him for a moment. "Do you want to retreat to Persia?" he demanded harshly.

"No. But we need to consolidate," Hephaestion said. "We are in danger of becoming overstretched. And the men know that."

"We are damn-well consolidating! And they know that!" Alexander retorted. "We are defining this damn river as our boundary and circling back to Persia!"

They stared at each other in mutual frustration, having argued themselves to a standstill.

"What would it all be worth, Alexander, if we went back without you?" Hephaestion asked finally. His expression eased somewhat. "Go to sleep, Alexander. You look exhausted."

"No," Alexander said. He felt slightly dizzy with temper and weakness and shortness of breath, but he stirred himself in the bed painfully, trying to raise himself. "No, Hephaestion," he said, "I am not as irresponsible as you think me. Ever since the army refused to go further east three months ago, I have wondered who they would chose as king in my stead. I have been acutely aware since Roxane's son died last month that I have no heir. And this last week I have been bitterly troubled at the thought of the army splitting apart and my friends fighting each other for the kingship."

He met the distress in Hephaestion's eyes, but kept going. "Why do you think I have been giving the army increasingly into your command in the past year? I wanted the army to become accustomed to your command, to be used to thinking of you as my right hand, a second Alexander, my natural successor if anything happened to me." Alexander subsided back onto the pillows, out of strength. "But I see it has not been enough. I see I need to officially designate you as my second-in-command. I am therefore going to name you as Chiliarch, Grand Vizier, and my heir." Alexander stopped, out of breath.

Hephaestion stared at him, dismay wide in his eyes. "Alexander, I never asked for this," he said hoarsely.

"No, Bagoas suggested it. Indirectly," Alexander said quickly, knowing he was on dangerous ground as a look of fury crossed Hephaestion's face. "When Roxanxe's son was born last month, he suggested reviving the title. I think he saw himself one day as Bagoas II Grand Vizier, the Kingmaker to my son." He knew Hephaestion would see the ridiculous irony in this. Bagoas had as little political power as a new born baby had himself.

With a look of derision, Hephaestion said, "I will not be indebted to a Persian dancer for my rank."

"You won't," Alexander said. "You're getting married."

He looked away from Hephaestion, tipping his head towards the roof of the tent so that he would not have to see the look of horrified disbelief growing in Hephaestion's blue eyes. Hephaestion had an immense respect for women. He did not believe they should be treated like chattels and married to a complete stranger. Nor that men should, but that they should follow where their hearts led.

"We're both getting married," Alexander continued. "We will marry the Persian princesses, Darius's daughters, upon our return to Persia. You will marry the younger princess, I the elder. We will become Darius's official heirs, his sons-in-law. You will become royal, you will be my brother, Hephaestion, the uncle and protector of my sons until they come of age. And I of yours."

Alexander hadn't delivered this in the way he had wanted to: he'd delivered it as an ultimatum, an accomplished fact, not as a gift, a fitting tribute to Hephaestion's unremitting love, loyalty, courage and hard work. And his failure showed in Hephaestion's face.

"Are you not pleased?" Alexander asked at Hephaestion's silence.

Hephaestion looked at him, confusion, uncertainty and distress warring in his eyes. "I don't know. This will create immense jealousy and division," he said quietly. His eyes widened as he drew a breath. "Alexander, did you just think this up now? Have you just made this up on the spur of the moment?"

"No, I told you, I've been thinking about it. But, I hadn't made a final decision until now. I want everyone to know how important you are, how much I trust you, and that if anything happens to me, I will still live on in you."

"Alexander, stop it!" Hephaestion said in exasperation. "This isn't about me! You always do this! If anyone finds fault with you, you deflect them, distract them with flattery, make them think you admire them, so they will forget to criticise you! Well, you don't have to do it with me because I will not fall for it any longer! I do not believe your lies anymore!"

Alexander stared at Hephaestion, his nostrils flaring, a bright, feverish spot of colour appearing on each bloodless cheek.

"Attack is the best form of defence," he said, his voice low and dangerously brittle with violence.

Hephaestion flung himself out of his chair and hung over Alexander, his hands pressing against the bed on either side of Alexander, imprisoning him.

"You have betrayed me, Alexander!" he said vehemently, his own eyes flashing with anger. "You are no longer the wise king I dreamt you would become! You are a thrill-seeker, a war-monger, living from day to day, and hungry for yet more and more power! And it has almost cost you your life! And eventually it will cost you your life!"

Alexander had felt a moment's primal panic as Hephaestion hung over him, his teeth and eyes flashing in anger, and Alexander had caught his hand in the clothing at Hephaestion's throat. Now he saw the pain as well as the anger in Hephaestion's bright eyes, and his heart twisted in his chest.

But anger was still uppermost in his heart. No one, no one, not even Hephaestion, spoke to him like that and got away with it. "And you," he said, his voice bitter with contempt, "have never quite grown up. You still dream too much, Hephaestion."

The pupils of Hephaestion's eyes contracted as he stared down at Alexander, but he did not flinch. He became like stone. "Then perhaps neither of us have," he said, his voice hard. They stared at each other in mutual confusion.

"Two halves," Alexander said suddenly, his voice strained and barely above a whisper as he stared with fiery eyes up at Hephaestion, his grip tightening in the desperation of a man who feared abandonment.

"Make a whole," Hephaestion said, his voice rough and angry. He pushed away from Alexander, making the bed jolt. "An imperfect whole."

"But greater than two halves," Alexander said, watching Hephaestion pace like a restless stallion. "I need you, Hephaestion, as much as you need me."

"Don't flannel me, Alexander. It won't work any more."

"But you'll still accept my gift?" Alexander asked, knowing he was half-way forgiven, and desperate to give tangible proof of his love. His nature needed to give love as much as he needed to be loved.

"Be quiet and stop talking," Hephaestion said, throwing himself back into his chair with an air of angry frustration and resignation. "Go to sleep, or I'll hold your nose and pour that poppy juice down your throat. I'll still be here when you wake up. I'll always be here." He folded his arms, half-way admitting defeat. Alexander would never change. And maybe he wouldn't be Alexander if he did. All Hephaestion could do was try to watch out for him and fill the gaps Alexander forgot about.

Alexander smiled in quiet triumph, watching Hephaestion as he sat there, watching a tired man who had given him the victory not because of weakness or pity for his own weakness, but because he loved him. No one could give him a greater gift of love than to forgive his faults. Slowly he let his eyes close in peace, safe in the knowledge he was watched over.

_I hope this makes sense. I'm not sure if it does._


End file.
